The Question of Writing

I actually didn't get much done over the weekend.Rrrr. But I rewrote... most of what I lost last week when the power went out. Forgot one aspect so will add another page or so before moving on. After that it'll be her abduction, his return and their escape... LOL. Seems so simple. But all the while they'll be dodging Sept. 7th bombs and trying to get to the airforce base so that he can get in the air.

Should be fun...

I actually watched a really interesting WW2 documentary this past weekend. [one of the reasons I didn't get much writing done] Part of me felt...hmmm, as if i'd missed my target. There seemed to be nothing romantic about it. It was really sad and I felt that my story didn't reflect the reality. On the other hand, there were definitely glimpses of humanity - humor, love, endurance...strength - in the personal stories from the men who had been there.

I've watched a lot of productions with a WW2 theme but this one struck me. And I wonder if it's because of the story i'm trying to tell. *sigh*

One story in particular left a little hole there in my heart. An American pilot, promoted to a commanding position in eastern Europe had set up headquarters in an old monastary/church structure. During an attack, as he stood at a table reading maps, a bomb came through the side of the building and literally took the top of another soldier's head off. [I know,'s gross] Again, what struck me were his halting words and his tears after such a long time. He had been a commander and could do nothing... He had troops to direct, decisions to be made and so, he continued while others came in and cleaned the mess of blood and brain matter around him.

Sorry, I'm just feeling contemplative...
There were a lot of wonderful, life-giving stories, too.

But, I wonder, do you ever question a story that way?